A Broken Wing
by Sweet Little Mary Sue
Summary: Ava Weaver didn't want to rely on a man for anything. She was determined to take care of herself, to stand on her own two feet, and never have to depend on a man ever again, but hard times force her to approach Forrest Bondurant, to establish a business arrangement, and along the way a tenuous friendship forms between them...Forrest/OC.
1. Chapter One

A Broken Wing

Sweet Little Mary Sue

Synopsis: Ava Weaver didn't want to rely on a man for anything. She was determined to take care of herself, to stand on her own two feet, and never have to depend on a man ever again, but hard times force her to approach Forrest Bondurant, to establish a business arrangement, and along the way a tenuous friendship forms between them, in spite of all of the odds that are stacked against them. Forrest Bondurant had always had a soft spot in his heart for fragile souls, and Ava's was the most delicate that he'd ever known, but he didn't have any desire to fall in love with her, or become attached to her two boys, but he was beginning to learn that things didn't always go the way that you planned, and that sometimes the best things that happened to you were the ones that you thought you didn't want.

Disclaimer: I own no part of _Lawless_, nor will I receive monetary compensation for this work of fanfiction (though I wouldn't mind a review or two). The only things that belong to me are my OC's, which consist of, but are not limited to, the late Coleman Weaver, his widow Ava, and their sons, Paul and Joshua, as well as Ava's parents, David and Mary Scott.

Author's Note: I hope that you will give my OC, Ava, a chance to blossom before you write her off as a hopeless case. Yes, she is a woman who has known nothing but abuse from the men in her life, and as a result of that mistreatment she is wary of all men, to be perfectly honest, she is terrified of them, but in her heart she is a fighter, and she is capable of enjoying a loving relationship with a man, once she learns that she can trust him, but she will be slow to emerge from her cocoon.

Rating Advisory: This story has been given an **M** rating for mentions and/or depictions of violence, mentions and/or recollections of rape, mild to moderate cursing, and eventual citrus, both limes and lemons.

Chapter One

Ava's POV

I took a deep breath, one that I pictured as coming in from the top of my head and traveling all throughout my body, to fill my toes to their tips, and then I slowly let it out, then went through the process all over again, five times in all, in the hope that, sooner or later, I'd calm myself down, but I knew that it was going to take more than deep breathing to give me the courage that I'd need to face Forrest Bondurant. I suppose that I ought to have thanked my lucky stars that it was the middle Bondurant brother who was tending to the needs of the customers of Blackwater Station, and not Howard, the eldest, who was also the largest, but, now that I thought about it, it occurred to me that Forrest was the brother that I ought to fear the most, because he never smiled, he always grumbled, and…..

"Mama, hey Mama," Paul said, pulling on the skirt of my second-best dress. "Why come is ya givin' all our jellies t' Misser Bond'rant? What is we gonna eat, if ya let him have all of our food?"

I managed to keep my footing, which wasn't an easy task, given that I had a boisterous youngster yanking on my skirt, and turned to glare at my eldest child, before I remembered to be patient, and I replaced the glower that was on my face with a smile, though it wasn't an effortless transformation, I can promise you that. I reached down and took hold of his hand, very gently, with my own, and moved it off of my skirt, then cupped his chin and bent to kiss his forehead.

"Remember when I told you that it was impolite to get a person's attention by pulling on their clothing?" I asked softly, moving my thumb to his forehead, to wipe away the faint smear of lipstick that I'd left behind.

"Yes'm," he whispered, looking properly abashed as he stuck his hands in the pockets of his trousers.

"And what else?" I prompted, having had this conversation with him many times before.

"I'm not s'posed t' say 'why come', jus' like I'm not s'posed t' say ain't, cause it ain't…erm…it's not 'proper speech', an' people will think that I'm not as smart as them if'n I don't talk the way I'm s'posed t'."

I took another deep breath and held it, then released it with a smile. "You are a very smart boy, Paul Weaver, and it doesn't matter what anyone else thinks about you. There are always going to be people in life who are mean and who try to make you feel bad about yourself, but you have to remember that you don't answer to them. The important thing is that you do the best that you can, that you make yourself the best person that you can be, because _you_ have a desire to be a good and decent man….."

"But Mama…Paul's _not_ a man, is him?" Josh asked, taking the other side of my skirt in _his_ hand and tugging on it furiously, until it dawned on him that I'd just corrected his brother for doing the same thing, and then he smoothed the fabric, and smiled at me apologetically. "Him's jus' a boy, like me, isn't him, Mama?"

I suppose that I ought to have been irritated, after all, my nerves were frazzled, and I was faced with the prospect of begging a man who scared me half to death to enter into a business proposition with me. The last thing that I needed was proof that my children still spoke like backwoods hicks, in spite of my best efforts to break them of that particular habit, not to mention the wrinkles that were now in my skirt, but I couldn't be frustrated with my little boys, because they were sweethearts and they made me smile, and who could ask for more than that?

"Yes, you're both boys, Josh, you're my little guys, but one day you'll be men, and it's my duty, as your Mama, to make sure that you'll be the best sort of men that you can be and….."

"Not like Daddy," Paul interrupted, staring at the wooden planks beneath his feet, and then kicking them with the toe of his shoe, scuffing it in the process. "Or Grandpa either…right, Mama?"

It broke my heart that a boy his age lived with the knowledge that his father had been a monster, and that his grandfather was a judgmental, hateful tyrant, but he'd seen the truth for what it was, in spite of my best efforts to shield him from it. The best that I could hope for was that he would learn from the example that had been set for him, and that he would strive to never follow in their footsteps. I suppose that it was sinful of me, to be grateful for the fact that Coleman was gone, and that he'd never come back, and it was especially wicked to wish that my father would hurry along behind him, but those were the thoughts that came into my mind none the less, and I justified them with the memories of what I'd endured, and the idea that any woman would think the same, were she to have walked a mile in my shoes.

"You don't have to wait out here on the porch, ma'am," a shy voice said from my side, making me jump and clutch a hand against my pounding heart. I whirled around and found a young man who possessed eyes that were eerily similar in hue to Coleman's smiling at me, a friendly grin that faltered for a moment, when he saw that he'd scared me, and then returned, as he doffed his hat and nodded at me. "Beggin' your pardon, ma'am, I didn't mean to startle ya, I jus' thought that ya might want t' know that womenfolk are welcome in the station, and children too, if'n ya wanted t' go inside, that is."

I took yet another deep breath, and felt my heartbeat slow somewhat, and then I returned his smile, though I was fairly certain that mine was nowhere near as sunny as his was.

"That's perfectly alright, Mister….?"

"Pate, ma'am, Cricket Pate."

"Mr. Pate. I do want to go inside, to speak with Mr. Bondurant, but I didn't want to disturb him, because he looks busy, and I don't have an appointment and….."

"Who, Forrest? Naw, he ain't too busy, an' ya don't need an appointment here, ma'am. Appointments is for the sawbones, an' we ain't runnin' that kinda racket here."

He opened the door before I could say another word and held out his hand, bidding us to enter. I would have hesitated, I needed one more moment to gather my courage, but Paul and Joshua, who'd spotted a jar filled with candy on the bar in the center of the station, rushed inside, leaving me to follow them as quickly as I could without resorting to running. You'd think that they'd never had candy before, and you would also think that they hadn't been taught any manners at all, if you judged them based on the way they jumped on the stools at the bar and stared at the jar that was filled to the brim with sheets of candy buttons, Zagnut bars, and boxes of Sugar Babies.

They'd drawn the attention of each and every customer, which was bad enough on its own, but when combined with the fact that they'd garnered Forrest Bondurant's interest, and he was staring at them, and then at me, like we were a trio of bothersome flies that desperately needed to be swatted, well, that made me break out in a cold sweat and seriously contemplate turning on my heel and fleeing. I might have done just that, and said to hell with my harebrained business proposition, but I couldn't leave my boys on their own, and I knew that I'd have to rescue them before I turned tail and ran for the hills.

It felt like I'd spent my entire day doing nothing but taking deep breaths, but that didn't stop me from needing another one to get me across the room, after I'd straightened the skirt of my dress and started crossing the floor, praying the whole way that I wouldn't stumble and topple down to land in a heap in front of God and this roomful of gawking men. I told myself that I would keep my eyes open, and on his, as I moved toward him, but I lost my nerve halfway there, and watched my shoes instead, just as I'd known I would.

"Mama, Mama!" Joshua yelled excitedly, standing on his stool as he called to me. "Lookie, lookie at this jar. They's Sugars 'n Buttons 'n lots of Zags too. Can me 'n Paul have one, please, Mama, please?"

I looked up and saw the way that his stool was wobbling, and I started to call a warning to Paul, to catch his little brother before he fell, at the same time that I was on the verge of telling Josh to sit down, but the stool started to tip before I could anything. The words that had been on the tip of my tongue came out as a shriek as I started to rush across the floor, unmindful of who was watching, or what they might think of me, my heart in my throat as I imagined a variety of injuries on my baby, and then Mr. Bondurant did the most amazing thing…he saved my little boy.

He'd been watching my sons with an expression that said that he'd like to warm the seat of their britches for them, well, that is, he had in the moments that I'd seen, before I bowed my head like a coward, and his expression hadn't changed much as he rescued Joshua, but that didn't matter. What counted was the fact that he'd grabbed my youngest boy by his suspenders and set him back on his stool, on his bottom, with a look in Paul's direction that told him that he needed to sit down as well.

"What have I told you about standing up in chairs?" I asked, rushing forward to hug my baby, while trying to keep my voice as stern as possible, though I may as well have not bothered, given that I dotted kisses on his cheeks as I did so. Now that I thought about it, I realized that kissing him in public probably shamed him more than anything I could have said or done, given the way he was fighting me, and glaring at his big brother, who was enjoying a good laugh at his expense.

"Me 'n Paul ain't s'posed t' stand in chairs, 'cause if'n we do, we might fall offa them and bust our heads open, 'n how're we s'posed to think, if we knock our brains outta our heads?"

Good, Lord. That sounded much worse than it had when I'd said it to him and his brother, and my face, which had already been warmed by my embarrassment, felt like it was on fire, because I could feel each and every set of eyes in the room trained solely on me. As if that wasn't bad enough, there were a few in attendance who were chuckling and whispering amongst themselves, and I reasoned that the best thing for me to do was to leave, before I humiliated myself even more than I already had, and so I might have done, if Cricket Pate hadn't spoken up before I had the chance to flee.

"This lady wants t' barter with ya, Mr. Bondurant," he said, moving to stand beside me, not noticing when I flinched away from him…though it was clear to me that Forrest wasn't quite as oblivious as his employee was. "She's got a box out yonder, filled with all kinda goodies, and I thought I'd tote it into the office for her, if'n ya wanted me to, that is."

It took every last scrap of nerve that I could muster to look Mr. Bondurant in the eye, but I managed to hold his gaze, and was grateful to him for not smiling at me, which would have necessitated that I do the same. He held his eyes on mine for a while, much longer than what I was comfortable with, and it wasn't easy, but I kept my gaze where it was, instead of looking away, the way that I wanted to, and finally he nodded his head at Cricket, who hurried across the room as fast as he could, and outside, to fetch my box for me.

"Hmm…you've got me at a disadvantage," he said, settling his attention solely on me once more. "You know me…hmm…but I don't know you."

I'd never heard his manner of speaking before, all growling and mumbling, but, strangely enough, it suited him, just the same as the hat that he'd whipped off of his head the moment I came into the room did, and his grey cardigan sweater, along with his shirt, which was buttoned up to his chin, did. It was a voice that said that he was uncomfortable with speaking, one that told me that he didn't voice his thoughts unless he had no choice but to do so, and the fact that he'd spoken to me, even though he wasn't comfortable doing so, hastened me to answer him.

"I apologize for my lapse of manners, Mr. Bondurant," I told him, clasping my hands in front of me, an old trick that I'd used for years, to bolster my nerve so I could continue to meet his eyes with my own. "My name is Ava Weaver, and these troublemakers are my boys, Paul and Joshua, and as Mr. Pate said, I've come with a business proposition, if you have the time, and the willingness, to hear me out."

"Hmm...," he grumbled, moving his gaze away from me just long enough to eyeball the box that Cricket was hefting into the room which must have served as his office. "Alright then."

Forrest's POV

Most people bristled at my mannerisms, they thought that I was rude and disagreeable, and they were right to think so, but Mrs. Weaver didn't seem all that bothered by my lack of social niceties. Of course, I reckon that she was one who had other worries on her mind, given that she looked like she was about as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs, and she didn't blink an eye at my brusque tone or lack of actual words, and followed me into my office like she hadn't a care in the world…that is, she did, unless you took the time to see the way that she smoothed her skirts, while she took several deep breaths, and clasped her hands tight together at her waist like her life depended on her doing so.

My head felt downright naked without my hat, but I wasn't heathen enough to plunk it back on my head while I was in her presence, so I placed it on my desk instead, and gestured to the seat across from me. I watched her hesitate, and look back over her shoulder, at her boys, who were happily accepting a sheet of candy buttons, a pack of Sugar Babies, and a Zagnut bar, courtesy of Cricket, who was in his element, entertaining two little kids who were clearly having the time of their lives. It was as plain as day that she wanted to intervene, and she struggled with herself for several moments, but then she took notice of me standing in front of my chair, and gesturing to the other, and she hurriedly took her seat, her face turning a deeper shade of red, while she hurried to apologize for inconveniencing me.

"Hmm…no need to say you're sorry, ma'am," I said, following her lead, and catching scent of something that smelled mouthwateringly delicious coming from the vicinity of the box that Cricket had toted for her. "Now then, what was it that you…hmm…had in mind, Mrs. Weaver?"

She took a deep breath, and I wondered if she did that sort of thing all of the time, or if it was something about me that made her do so. I wasn't finding fault with her, it was her business if she wanted to breathe deep, but I had to wonder if she realized that she was thrusting her bosom out each and every time that she sucked in a couple of lungful's of air, and I reckoned that I wasn't the only man who'd take notice of how nicely rounded her chest was. Of course, she was a pretty little thing anyway, with big brown eyes and equally dark hair, but I knew better than to study too seriously on a woman who'd been married to a mean son of a bitch like Coleman Weaver, because he was liable to have ruined her where menfolk were concerned…if her Daddy, who was just as big a peckerwood, hadn't managed to do just that before she'd hitched herself to Weaver, that is.

"Well, I know that you serve biscuits on a regular basis, and I thought that your customers might enjoy a little jelly or jam served on the side. Mr. Twitchell in town said that his patrons wouldn't be interested in consuming products that were homemade, but it occurred to me that you might not be of the same mindset…but I wouldn't know, unless I asked, and…and….."

Her voice trailed away, and she was twisting her hands together with enough force to make me worry that she might snap them off at the wrists if she continued to carry on the way that she was. Her face was an alarming shade of red by that point, like someone who was in danger of choking to death, and her eyes went to my desk, then to the floor, anywhere but up, toward me. Had she been a man, I would have been insulted by the fact that I was being disregarded, and I would have been worried that the deal that I was being sold was a crooked one, but I sensed that she was scared of me, and that was what had stalled out her words and made her as jumpy as a preacher in a whorehouse, so I was willing to overlook, and even excuse, what would be rudeness in anyone who wasn't her.

"Ol' Twitchell don't sell anything that ain't made by his missus," I told her, sliding the box across my desk, to have a peek inside. "These…hmm…look mighty fine to me, ma'am, and I imagine those old buzzards out there'd eat me outta house and home, if I was to offer them a taste of what's in these jars."

Damn, that was quite a speech for me, but it was worth it, to see her head snap up, so that she could look at me, and then she unlocked her hands, while she almost, but not quite, smiled at me. All of the stiffness left her shoulders, and it was plain as day that she'd regained her confidence, what little there was to be had, and I decided that I would buy each and every jar that was in that box, one, because I knew that what was inside would be tasty, and two, because she might just smile at me outright, if I was to do so.

"Well, that's wonderful, Mr. Bondurant," she said, scooting forward in her chair, to rest her hands on my desk. "I brought three pints of peach jam, three of strawberry, and three pints each of apple, plum, and pear jelly. I also brought three pints of apple butter, and a variety of canned pies, including peach, apple, blueberry, blackberry, and cherry, if you would be interested in any of those….."

"I'll take all of them," I interrupted, because my own mouth was watering well enough to convince me that I could easily sell everything that she had…if I didn't eat them up myself before I had a chance to do so. "Hmm…would you be willing to make a few pies that I can slice and sell as well?"

I'd shocked her; it took her a few moments for her to regain her ability to speak. "I could do that, Mr. Bondurant, if you'd like, I'd be happy to do that…but…well…_all_ of them, sir? Are you sure? I mean, I'd be grateful, but….."

"I'm sure…hmm…and I'll be positive after I sample everything…hmm…if that would be okay with you, ma'am?"

She stared at me for a moment, still dumbfounded, and then, very slowly, she started to smile, and it was my turn to be shocked, as the full force of what that beam could do to me hit me dead square in the center of my chest. She was pretty without the smile, but with it, she was beautiful, and, once more, I had to wonder why a woman like her would have ever married a boil on the butt of humanity like Coleman Weaver.

"There are samples of each item in that platter at the bottom of the box. I even brought along a couple of biscuits that I made, unless you'd rather have your own."

I reckoned that she must not have been very familiar with the quality of my cooking as I dug out the napkin that was holding three big, flaky biscuits, still warm, which said that she'd taken them right out of the oven before she'd came. I chose the peach jam to begin with, slathering one end of the biscuit, and taking a big bite, unmindful of the fact that she was watching me. I'd tasted my fair share of good biscuits and jam, my Ma had been a very good cook, but that didn't stop me from closing my eyes and relishing the taste of her cooking, which, to be honest, beat my Ma's all to hell.

I slowly opened my eyes, and felt my own cheeks grow hot when I saw how closely she was watching me, but it was an embarrassment that I could overlook easily enough, when I contemplated all of the other treats that awaited my approval. I just hoped that I could rein myself in after all of the samples were gone, and refrain from opening every jar and devouring what was inside.

"Yes, ma'am," I said, wiping my mouth on my sleeve, and blushing all over again when she opened her purse and handed me a handkerchief that was soft and smelled just like her. "I'll take all that you have here…hmm…and any you have at home…and as many pies and biscuits that you can bring me."


	2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Forrest's POV

I wasn't much of a talker. As a rule, I tended to be the quietest one in the room, and I was content in my silence. I liked to sit back and watch those around me, and listen to what they had to say. That being said, it wasn't too often that someone managed to say or do something that would render me speechless, because there wasn't too damned much that I hadn't seen or heard at least once in my life, so imagine my surprise when Ava Weaver managed to catch me unawares, and leave me scrambling to string my words together into something that would make a lick of sense to anyone who might have been listening.

When I'd asked her about providing pies for the station, I'd meant in a couple of days' time, but she showed up bright and early the next morning instead, with her two boys in tow, and brought an apple pie, a pecan pie, a cherry pie, and two peach cobblers. She lined 'em up on the butcher block that rested in the center of the kitchen, each one just as pretty as the others, and that was the smell had led me down the stairs, like a hound on the trail, to find not only the baked goodies waiting for me, but also a trio of eggs, fried over medium, just the way I liked them, with bacon and buttered toast on the side, and a jar of peach jam standing beside a mug that was filled with piping hot coffee.

Now, at any other time, I would have been mad as hell if someone had traipsed into my home and acted like they owned the damned place, but I wasn't even remotely upset that Ava had done so. For one thing, it had been a good long while since I'd had anyone pamper me, so much so that I'd kind of gotten out of the habit of appreciating that sort of thing, but that didn't mean that I wasn't willing to remember the steps to that particular dance. I knew that Ava was a hell of a good cook, and she was just as pretty as she could be to boot, and on top of all of that, I knew that she was the timid type, it was clear as day in every word that she spoke and every move that she made, and the fact that she had pushed all of that nervousness aside, just so she could wait on me, well, let's just say that her gesture touched me, and leave it at that.

"Good morning, Mr. Bondurant," she said quietly, so softly that I almost missed her words altogether. "I know that it wasn't my place, but I thought that you might enjoy it if someone were to make breakfast for you. I know that you're used to doing for others all day long, and I just thought that it might be nice to start your day with someone looking after you for once…though I suppose that I ought to have checked with you first, instead of just assuming….."

Her words trailed away as her eyes met mine, for just a second, then skittered away, and focused on several places, before settling on the floor, beside her feet. There was a flush that was slowly covering her face, and moving down her throat, to hide itself beneath the neckline of her pretty blue dress, but it wasn't just self-consciousness that was making her act the way that she was. It was plain as day that she was scared of me, I could see that she expected me to bless her out, or worse, and I wondered what had happened, to make her behave the way that she did, just as I wished that I could get my hands on the one who was responsible, and give them ample cause to regret what they had done.

"Hmm…I usually say that it's a mistake to assume anything, but I reckon that I could have my mind changed for me, if I could come downstairs and find a surprise like this one," I said, speaking a little louder than I normally did, so that she would hear each of my words clearly, and know that I wasn't aggravated with her, while keeping my tone as calm as I could, so that she wouldn't bolt and run away from me. "It's mighty kind of you to think of me, Mrs. Weaver, hmm, and you're right, it _is_ a nice way for me to start the day, and I'd, hmm, like to thank you for that…and for the pies as well."

I'd surprised her, I could see the proof that I had on her face, and I saw relief as well, and once more I felt a red-hot bolt of temper course through me when I pondered what she'd suffered, to have made her so afraid of each and every man that she came into contact with. The most likely candidate was her late husband, even though I couldn't wrap my head around the notion that a man would ever raise his voice, let alone his fists, to the woman that he was supposed to love. The proof that she'd been hit was in her body language, and the way that she always tried to stay just out of reach, and that was only if you missed the way that she flinched each and every time that you moved, and it tore at me, and made me mad as hell, to think that there had been some mean son of a bitch who'd taken his hands to her in a violent fashion, and I couldn't get to him, and give him the opportunity to dance with a man for once in his life, so he could see how it felt, to have someone brutalize you with their fists.

"You're welcome, Mr. Bondurant," she answered, in a voice that was a little louder, but still not much more than a whisper. "And thank you, for giving me a chance. There's so many who have refused to help me, and it means a great deal to me, and to my boys, to know that there are folks who are still willing to help out their neighbor, when they need a hand."

I wasn't accustomed to being called Mr. Bondurant, and it kind of made me feel like she ought to be talking to my Pa, instead of me, but I knew that it made her comfortable, to do things that way, so I didn't suggest that she call me Forrest instead. I twisted my hat around in my hands, having taken it off as quickly as I could once I'd found her waiting downstairs for me, and wondered what I ought to do with it. Most times I would have set it beside my plate while I ate, but it occurred to me that she might take offense at that, given that it wasn't proper manners, and I was all set to hang it on my chair instead, but stopped when she moved toward me, very slowly, and with a lot of caution, and held out her hand to me.

"May I?" she asked, gradually moving her eyes to my face as she spoke, with her eyelids fluttering just a little, as if they expected her to flinch at any moment. I met her gaze with my own, and held it for as long as I felt I could, without making her uncomfortable, then nodded and handed her my hat, busying myself with taking my seat after I'd placed it in her hands, to ease her self-consciousness as much as I could, and damned if she didn't place it right beside me, on the tabletop, after I'd settled into my chair.

"Is that alright?" she asked, standing beside the table, just out of reach, wringing her hands behind her back as secretly as she could, though I saw her just the same. "Or would you rather I hang it somewhere else?"

I could see that she wanted to please me, and she had been successful in her desire to do so, but I didn't want her to think that I needed, much less expected, for her to wait on me hand and foot. The food that she'd made for me looked, and smelled, better than any that I'd had for several years, but I made myself ignore it, for the moment, so I could do my best to convince Ava that I didn't need, or want, for her to behave like she was my slave.

"Hmm…that's right where I would have set it," I told her, slowly tucking my napkin into my collar, and picking up my knife and my fork, readying them for the feast that she'd made for me. "Did those boys of yours have breakfast yet?"

It didn't occur to me until after I'd spoken the words that she might take them as an insult, as a slight against her abilities as a mother, which I certainly hadn't meant them to be, but thankfully she didn't seem to be the least bit offended. Of course, it could be that I _had_ hurt her feelings, and she was so skilled when it came to hiding things that I couldn't tell that I'd done so, and I hemmed and hawed to myself, fighting back and forth with one idea, which said that I ought to apologize, and the other, which told me to keep my damned mouth shut, though, in the end I didn't have to do either one, because she answered me before I could say a word and saved me the trouble of making a complete ass of myself.

"They each had a bowl of Corn Flakes, and a banana, before we left," she answered, without a hint of anything in her voice that might mean that I'd upset her. "I told them to take a couple of brooms out on the porch and give it a good sweeping. I hope that's okay with you, Mr. Bondurant."

Hell, it suited me just fine, to have folks around who'd tidy the place up. Lord knows I couldn't get Jack to do a damned thing, not unless I was chewing his ass from sunup to sundown, and it would be nice to have the station spruced up a little, just so long as Ava understood that I would be placing coins in her hand, and in her boys' as well, after all was said and done. I'd never cottoned to the notion of anyone working for free, and I wasn't going to let the Weaver boys or their mama do so, no matter what she might have to say on the matter.

"Hmm…I guess they'll be alright 'til around noontime then," I said, though I was thinking that a bowl of Corn Flakes and a banana were no fitting way to begin the day for a man who was going to be earning a living by the sweat of his brow. "What about you, Mrs. Weaver? Did you…hmm…break your fast with your boys, or were you too busy taking care of them, and…hmm…me to have a bite yourself?"

I'd taken her by surprise, as a matter of fact; I was willing to bet that I'd shocked the hell out of her, if the look that was on her face was any indication. It wasn't hard to imagine that she didn't have anyone to take care of her, I got the idea that there hadn't ever been anyone who did so, not unless you counted her boys, and having been a boy myself, I could remember the ways that I'd showed my Ma how much I cared, and usually made a big mess for her to clean up while I was at it.

"Oh," she said, then blushed as the word came out a bit louder than she'd probably meant for it to. "Well, that is, no, I haven't had any breakfast, Mr. Bondurant, but I'm fine….."

"Hmm…why don't you join me," I interrupted, wondering where in the hell I'd found the gumption to do so. "I don't like to eat by myself…hmm…I've found that food tastes better if you're sharing it with someone else."

That was probably one of the biggest whoppers that I'd ever told, so much so that I waited to be struck down by a bolt of lightning for not blinking an eye as I sinned, but it was worth it, to see the hint of a smile that was teasing the sides of Ava's mouth. She hesitated for just a moment, nervously twisting her fingers 'round and 'round, and then she took a seat beside me, and it was my turn to be the one who was shocked, because it was plain as day that she meant to share my plate with me, as opposed to fetching one for herself.

She glanced at me, and continued to do so, until it dawned on me that she was waiting for me to give her my permission, which was something that would have made me mad at any other time, until I considered the situation and realized that she was right for doing so. I nodded, and then waited until she had taken what she wanted, a slice of toast and a couple of pieces of bacon, and then I cut into my eggs and did my damnedest to keep from making a pig of myself, and to remember the table manners that I'd been taught, all while I fought against the urge to feed her a forkful of my eggs, which came out of nowhere to shock the hell out of me…and made me wonder what she would do, if I was to reach out and lick that bit of butter that was smeared on her bottom lip off with my tongue.

Ava's POV

Coleman had been fond of telling me that our boys were lazy, that they were shiftless and good-for-nothing. Nothing had pleased him more than to goad me with the opinion that Paul and Josh were weak, that they were pathetic mama's boys who'd never be worth a damn, but he'd been wrong. They were hard workers, much more than Coleman had ever been, and one day they'd grow up into men who used their brains, and some of their brawn, to live a successful, and, God willing, happy life. They weren't weak either, and they certainly weren't pathetic. Coleman had only said that because they would cry when he, as he said, "took them up", for one infraction or another, but only if I hadn't been able to intercede on their behalf, due to him locking me in a closet or ensuring that I was unconscious, and unable to protect them.

I suppose that it was sinful for me to rejoice in the fact that he was dead, and, I hoped, burning in Hell for all eternity, but I couldn't help the way that I felt, no more than I could stifle the hope that my own father would meet his Maker soon, and he could share a room with the man who'd made my life, and the life of my boys, so miserable. I wondered what Mother would do, if she were finally to be free of the yoke of my father? Would she ever truly be able to be happy, to live a life without fear, or would she, like me, forever be scarred and doomed to flinch and cower before every man she came across?

I wished that I wouldn't do that sort of thing at all, I would have liked to have had the pluck, and the self-confidence, to know that I didn't have to be afraid all of the time, because not all men were like Coleman and Father, but I just couldn't force the fear to leave me be. I especially wished that I wouldn't react that way to Forrest, though; thankfully he gave no indication that he'd noticed me doing so. There was something about him, something that promised that he was a good man, but I just couldn't convince myself to trust him completely, though I was tempted to do so at the moment, as I watched him interact with my sons.

Granted, he was leaving most of the talking to Cricket, whom the boys had taken to like peanut butter to jelly, but every now and then he'd offer a word of his own to the instruction that Paul and Josh were receiving on the workings of his old, beat-up, pickup truck. I watched them from a distance, close enough to catch most of what was being said, but not so near as to distract them, and felt my heart ache, and my breath catch in my throat, as the sunlight glinted on their wheat colored hair, so like Coleman's had been, and brightened their little faces, and their pale blue eyes, which they'd inherited from him as well. Thank God that they took after me as far as their features were concerned, because I don't think that I could have borne it very easily, if they'd looked like him in every way and…..

"How do, Mrs. Weaver," a voice said beside me, _right_ beside me, a deep, thoroughly masculine tone that instantly filled me with terror and set my heart to pounding. I whirled around, moving backward as I did so, and found myself face-to-face with Howard Bondurant. He was just as big as I remembered him to be, tall and well-muscled, with light colored eyes that worsened my fear and hands that looked like they could knock me to the ground in pieces with one fell swoop. He had been the one who'd sold moonshine to Coleman, he was the one who'd come to our home, and paid me a compliment on the apple pie that I'd served…praise that had earned me a second black eye after he'd left, a mark that joined the one that had been fading, but had drawn Mr. Bondurant's attention just the same.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, I didn't mean to startle ya," he said quickly, reaching out with his hand, the one that wasn't holding his hat, to steady me, when what I wanted, more than anything, was for him to leave me be. "It's alright, ma'am, I ain't gonna hurt ya, I was jus' tryin' to help ya, that's all."

He wouldn't turn loose of my arm. I knew, rationally, in my mind, that he wasn't going to hurt me, I knew that he was telling me the truth, but he wouldn't let go of me, and all of my sensible ways of thinking fled me as I struggled to break free of his hold. I would imagine that he mistook my writhing for me being unsteady on my feet, and he was simply trying to help me, but that didn't make it any easier to calm down, it did nothing to still my pounding heart, or to stifle the whimpers that continued to rise inside of me, before escaping me as tiny cries of terror.

Suddenly he seemed to have a thought, something came to him, a dawning moment of clarity, and he started to turn loose of me, apologizing, once more, as he did so, but Forrest intervened before he could finish his words, or release me completely, and the look that was on his face as he jerked his older brother away from me ought to have terrified me completely, but there was something, the tiniest bit of wonder and awe, as I beheld him in a fury that was not directed at me, that kept me from giving myself over to my fear in each and every way where he was concerned.

He never said a single word, and he didn't give an outer appearance of his temper, after he dragged Howard away from me, and I was thankful to him for that, because Paul and Josh hadn't seen that brief flare of anger, but they were watching now, and continued to do so as Forrest escorted his brother away from me. The boys were smiling, so it was obvious that they hadn't caught on to the fact that the brothers were involved in a strife with one another, though Cricket wasn't quite as oblivious and rushed to move them around to the other side of the truck, just in case, I assumed, fists began to fly.

Forrest wasn't silent any longer, but he wasn't shouting either. He spoke to his brother in a low voice, quietly enough that I couldn't make out a single word, and then he sent him on his way, with his head cast low and his hat clutched tightly in one huge fist, and I found myself biting back a burst of hilarity, when it dawned on me that the two of them reminded me of a lumbering hound dog being taken to task by a beagle. I could tell that Howard wished to speak to me, undoubtedly to apologize for frightening me, but he must have been given strict instructions not to speak to me, because he moved on without a word. Forrest watched him until he was out of sight, and then he slowly moved toward me, stopping a safe distance away from me, and politely removing his hat, to hold it against his chest.

"He…hmm…didn't mean to frighten you, Mrs. Weaver," he said softly, in that rough, mumbling speech that I was beginning to see was just as much a part of him as the hat that always covered his head, and the sweater that most men his age would have eschewed. "He'll tell you that himself, once some time has passed, but I wanted you to know right now, so…hmm…that you won't feel ill-at-ease."

It took a lot of effort, more than I realized that I possessed, to move forward and place myself in easy distance of him, should he get the urge to strike me, but somehow I managed to do just that. I had to put my hands behind my back, there was no escaping the fact that I had to do so, but I wasn't flinching and I could feel my mouth trying to smile, even if it didn't quite make it. I was still fighting against the crippling fear that had taken hold of me, my knees were still weak and I still felt like I might bolt at any moment, but somehow I found the strength to truly smile at him, and to look into his eyes, and was rewarded for doing so with the observation that he had the handsomest green eyes that I'd ever seen, and then I was given a new reason to feel shaky, when it dawned on me that I liked looking into his eyes, and might be tempted to do so again in the future…and not simply because I was trying to be polite.

"Thank you, Mr. Bondurant," I whispered, and felt the smile on my face grow, I felt it blossom fully to life, when the boys came running, tiny, grubby hands filled with dandelions, each of them happily shouting for me, as if it had been weeks since they'd talked to me, as opposed to the minutes that it had truly been. "For me…and my boys…thank you for all that you have done."


	3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Ava's POV

It started out as such a beautiful morning, one that was full of hope and promise, but I suppose that I ought to have known that it wouldn't last. After all, there weren't many things that my father was good at, he'd failed abysmally at being a kind and loving husband, in addition to being one of the worst parents to ever tread upon God's green earth, but one thing that he _was_ good at was making my life a living hell. That was something that he'd been doing since the day that I'd had the audacity to be born a female, and I'd long since accepted that he would continue to do so until one of us died. I suppose that it was sinful of me to hope that he would be the one to pass first, but that was one transgression that I refused to atone for, simply because I was not sorry for it, and could not pretend that I was, lest I run the risk of further offending the Lord.

I was proud of myself for accomplishing so much so early in the day. The sun was still on the rise, yet I already had three peach pies ready for the boxes that would transport them to Blackwater Station, and three blackberry cobblers were cooling on the counter and would be ready within the hour. All that I had to do was get myself prettied up, and make sure that the boys had washed up after they'd milked Bessie and fetched all of the eggs, and then we could be on our way. It had become a habit this past week to eat breakfast at the station and I was in a hurry to get going as quickly as I could…unfortunately, my father had other plans.

I'd just put the finishing touches on my makeup when that familiar knock sounded on my front door, the one that still had the ability to send a shiver of fear and dread running up the length of my spine, no matter how often I reminded myself that I had no need to fear him any longer. I considered ignoring his summons and sneaking out the back door, but I knew that my doing so would only encourage him to follow me to the station and make a scene there, so I walked over to the front door instead, wiping my palms against my skirt to dry them as I did, and, after taking a deep, and, I hoped, fortifying breath, I opened the door and faced the man who'd caused me so much pain.

I knew from pictures that I'd seen growing up that David Scott had been a handsome man in his youth, but the years of self-righteous living had taken their toll on him, and left his eyes permanently narrowed, and had lent a cruel sneer to his lips that never went away. It was hard for me to meet his eyes, even with the screen door standing between us, but I made myself do so. I'd grown up with the rule that I wasn't to look directly at my "betters", and my husband had happily continued the decree after we were married, but I wasn't a child any longer, and Coleman was rotting in his grave, so why should I continue to allow the ways of the past to hold sway over me?

"I'm sorry, Father, but I was just about to head out," I told him, pointedly keeping the screen door closed between us, when the decorum of the South suggested that I open it and welcome my guest, whether they were expected or not, into my home. "Be sure to give my love to Mama, if you will, and….."

"It's not even seven in the mornin', but look at you, all painted up like a harlot, off to sell yourself to those Bondurant's," he sneered, in that tone that had always made my heart freeze in my chest, then start again, in a fearfully frantic rhythm that put me in mind of a bolting rabbit. "Bet you thought that I wouldn't hear about that, didn't ya, girlie? You thought you could gallivant 'round the mountainside, carryin' on like a bitch in heat, and no one would be the wiser, didn't ya? Well, I know all about it, and I thought that I'd show you a kindness, given that you're my flesh and blood, no matter how much it disgusts me to acknowledge that ya are, and give ya the opportunity to hand them boys over to me now, with no courtroom drama….."

"You are out of your mind if you think that I'll ever give my boys to you!" I hissed, careful to keep my voice as low, to spare my sons as much as I could. "I don't want them to be around you at _any_ time, and it'll be an ice-cold day in _Hell_ when I hand them over, to be bullied and beaten and….!"

"Don't you _dare_ raise your voice at me!" he bellowed, having no concern at all for my sons, and what it would do to them, what state it would put them in, to hear him hollering at me and be taken back to the times when their father would do the same. "This is what happens when a woman is left to her own devices. Women need men to keep them in line and remind them of their proper place, and it's plain as day that you need a lesson in manners, missy! I did my best to bring ya up right, and Coleman, rest his soul, took up the mantle when he married you, but you've fallen by the wayside none the less because you've steeped yourself, and them boys, in sin and degradation. This is what comes from a woman being the head of a household, this is what comes from a family strayin' from the church, this is….!"

I'd heard all that I cared to hear, to tell the truth, I'd heard far more than I wanted to, and a glance toward the kitchen, where Josh and Paul were crouched in the doorway, doing their best to keep from crying, told me that they'd had their fill as well. I stepped back, without another word, and started to close the door, intent on locking my father out and ignoring him until he went away…but I forgot to lock the screen door first. It dawned on me, when he grasped the handle and started to pull back on the flimsy door, that an intelligent person would have locked said door the moment that they saw their enemy standing on the other side, but I was still getting used to standing up for myself, and, unfortunately, old habits were hard to break, and the old me would have never dared to lock the door on my father, so why would the thought have occurred to me in time to save myself?

The screen door slammed shut behind him, a sound that rang out, in chorus, with the heavy front door, as he threw it back against the wall. He shoved me with one meaty hand, sending me scrambling backward, and I screamed at the boys to run, to hide themselves. My father might have believed himself to be all-seeing and all-knowing, but I knew that he would never find their hiding place, and they would never come out until I told them that it was safe for them to do so. I knew that it went against their grain, to leave me while I was in danger, but they knew not to question me in times like these, and immediately fled from the house…though Paul paused just long enough to settle a glare upon his grandfather that held so much hostility that it made my stomach flip-flop in the most unpleasant way.

"Who in hell do you think you are, ya uppity little slut?" my father roared, shoving me again and again, so that it took a great deal of effort on my part to stay on my feet. "You'd close the door on me, on your own flesh and blood, as if I were some hobo beggin' for a handout, when I came here to give you an opportunity that ya don't deserve? You know that the judge is goin' to give me them boys, after all, there's no way that a good, Christian man like Deke Boswell would let them boys stay in the home of a brazen, godless, hussy like you. I was tryin' to spare our family the shame of the whole town hearin' the truth of your transgressions, 'stead of just soppin' up the rumors, but you're just bound and determined to drag all of us into the muck with ya, aren't ya, gal? You want to make me, and your Ma, and those boys, who've you've ruined with your sinful ways, wallow in the muck with you like a bunch of hogs….."

"This is _my_ house," I hissed, shocking my father, not to mention myself, by raising my head, to meet his eyes, though I still couldn't help but flinch when I saw the fury in his gaze…along with something else, something that had been there since I'd started to take on a womanly shape, something that seemed to squiggle along my spine like a centipede. "And I can shut the door on whomever I please, and I would sooner gargle with pesticide than to invite a man like you into my home, to befoul the place that I share with sons, after all of the prayer and effort that it took to cleanse it, after Coleman was gone. As for your good friend, Deke Boswell, who is just as honest and godly as _you_, Pa, as far as I'm concerned, he should get on his knees and pray for forgiveness, because he has made a habit of sinning in the name of the Lord, and I reckon that God is getting mighty tired of evil men using His name to justify….."

My words died with a scream as his hand connected with my cheek, sending a deafening _crack_ reverberating throughout the room. I staggered backward, and started to raise my palm to my face on instinct, to cradle my aching flesh, but he struck me again before I could do so, splitting my lip with a slap that was twice as powerful as the first, and nearly sent me sprawling to the floor. Thankfully, I managed to keep my feet beneath me, and he allowed me to gingerly stroke my cheek, not out of kindness, mind you, because he didn't know what that was, but because he wanted both of his hands to unbuckle his belt and slowly draw it out of his pants' loops.

"Yep, you've been too long without proper instruction, and it's my place to put ya back on the path," he said, in a tone that was deceptively soft and filled with something that could only be called excitement. He snapped the long length of leather, sending another _crack_ through the room, and slowly started to move toward me, fully expecting me to kneel on the ground and raise my dress, as I would have when I was a child…or an adult, when Coleman had felt the need to beat me, so imagine his surprise, not to mention mine, when I defiantly held my ground instead. "Don't make this any harder on yourself than it has to be, gal," he told me, his voice taking on a new sound, one that was frighteningly familiar to me, one that promised that I'd be in a world of pain for a week, at least, if I didn't do as I was told. "Ya should've kept your mouth shut and did as you was told, but ya wanted to be uppity instead, and now ya need to learn the error of your ways."

I don't know what happened in that moment, something seemed to click within me, something that told me that I would _not_ allow him to hurt me, not once more. I'd lived all of my life _allowing_ a man to take out his anger and aggression on me, just as my mother had before me, but I would not do so any longer. My eyes went to the shotgun that I kept above the door, the one that I'd placed there to chase off varmints and shoot the occasional rattler, and somehow, someway, I managed to dodge around him as I ran for the door and took the weapon in hand, whirling on him, with a thrill of exhilaration coursing through me, and taking aim on the one spot that would likely upset him the most, that spot south of his belt, where no man wanted to be shot, but where this man _deserved_ to be shot.

"You little whore," he fumed, his fury growing when I snickered at him as he moved his hands to cover his privates, as if his fingers had the ability to deflect the blast from a shotgun. "You don't have the _nerve_ to shoot me, so lower that gun _right now_, and I promise that you'll only get twenty more lashes….."

His voice trailed away with a squeak when the distinctive sound of me readying a round for firing filled the room. There was precious little in my life, up until that point, that had sounded as sweet to me as that pathetic squeaking sound did, and I wasn't about to sully those memories by associating them with my father, so I concentrated on the noises that he was making instead, startled, downright scared sounds that grew in pitch and frequency as I used the barrel of my Winchester, one jab after another, to back him out of my house.

He tried to say something, I was pretty sure it would be another threat, along with a string of insults, but something that he saw in my eyes stopped him cold…and if that hadn't worked, there was little doubt that the words of my new neighbor of one week, Verena Howell, would have worked to shut him up in a heartbeat.

"I'd scat if I was you, mister," she said, in a tone that was jovial, gleeful even, in nature, from the corner of my house, the one that rested on the side closest to her land. "Because I'd be willing to swear, to John Law and the Lord God Almighty, that you had yourself a tragic accident, that you shot yourself with that shotgun, and ain't that just a crying shame?"

Forrest's POV

Someone had given Ava a shiner, and I was willing to bet that it was the same slimy son of a bitch who'd busted her lip. She'd done a good job of hiding the bruise with makeup, and she'd masked the split with her lipstick, but I could see them just as plain as day all the same. I'd known that her neighbor's story about her being "indisposed" was a load of bullshit as soon as I'd heard it, but it wasn't my place to go storming into her home to find out the truth for myself, though the hellish week that I'd suffered through with her gone had tempted me to do so, time and time again.

Howard had fetched a couple of boxes of baked goods from her home each and every day, but he hadn't seen hide nor hair of her or her boys. I'd had a bad feeling about what had happened, one that grew worse with each day that passed, and I'd damn near went out of my skull worrying about her and her sons. Howard had reckoned that her neighbor would have said if something had been wrong, and he'd felt honor bound to point out that a woman who was sitting on Death's doorstep wouldn't have been able to crank out one box of pies and cobblers after another, but I hadn't taken any comfort in his words. Now I had proof that she'd lied to me, that she was hiding something from me, but how could I find out what had happened, who had hurt her, without backing her into a corner and scaring her?

My eyes crossed the yard, to the spot where her youngest boy was standing, watching Cricket pump gas, and an idea that was undoubtedly lowdown in nature came to mind. I knew that I didn't have any right to wrangle the story out of the boy, I knew that it would upset Ava for me to do so, but I was desperate, and I was mad, and I knew that the only way that I could find out the truth, the only way that I could help her, that I could _protect_ her, was to go to her boy for the story…so that was what I did, though, in my favor, I felt guilty as hell as I did so.

I knew that both of her sons were fond of fishing, that was why the sight of my pole and my tackle box would draw the youngest boy to me like a bee to honey, and, sure enough, it didn't take him more than a minute or two to lose interest in Cricket. He walked toward me very slowly, feet dragging, eyes pointed at the ground, and came to rest a little ways away from me. I didn't miss the fact that he looked like he expected me to holler at him at any moment, and I took notice of the fact that he'd left himself plenty of room to bolt, if he needed to, but I was bound and determined not to take offense, even though I was nothing like the man that his actions were accusing me of being.

"Can I help you with those, Misser Forrest?" he asked softly, so quietly that I almost missed his words altogether. "I'm good at helping, especially with lures, if'n you was needing some help, that is."

I could see that he expected me to tell him to scat, and his eyes brightened happily when I nodded at him instead.

"Thank you kindly, young man," I murmured, moving around the board that I'd set on two sawhorses, to make a table of sorts for working outside, taking care to keep my steps slow, so as not to startle him. "I've got a fearsome amount of work to do, to get these lures straightened out, so that you boys can go with Cricket and catch a mess of perch, and I'd surely appreciate it if you were to give me a hand."

He smiled at me, a gap-toothed grin that made me feel like I'd done something amazing, and quickly went to work on a pile of lures that I moved to the side for him, straightening what needed tidying, and carefully gluing bits and pieces back on that had fallen off. He was a good little worker, even though he chattered like a magpie about everything from Zagnut bars to his love of Babe Ruth, and he worked through his pile in record time…until he broke a lure in half, one that I'd had handed down to me from my Pa, one that I was very fond of.

"Oh, no," he whispered, in a voice that was shaking with tears, as if he instantly believed that he was in the deepest and darkest sort of trouble that a little boy could find. "Oh, geez, Misser Forrest…I'm so sorry…I di'n't mean t' break it, I promise I di'n't…oh, please, Misser Forrest….."

His face became a picture of fear and shame as he looked up at me, with tears swimming in his pale blue eyes, and it bothered me to know that he was scared of me, but not nearly as much as it angered me. I fought against the urge to curl my hands into fists, because I didn't want to scare him anymore than he already was, and I forced myself to take several deep breaths, to ensure that I was good and calm when I spoke to him, lest I let the fury that I was feeling at that moment be heard in my voice.

"Hmm…don't worry yourself about that lure, Josh," I murmured, reaching out to take it from his hands before he managed to stick the hook into his palm, careful to keep my touch as gentle as I could. "That old thing was just about to fall apart, so it's no wonder that it broke. It wasn't your fault that it snapped in half, and there's no need for you to be sorry, alright, young man?"

I didn't make mention of his tears, because I knew that it would shame him if I did so. I reached into my back pocket instead and pulled out my handkerchief, handing it to him and averting my eyes, to wait for him to wipe his face and nose, but he stared at me instead, as if he was in shock.

"Do ya mean that you ain't gonna take me up for breaking your lure?" he asked, in a tone that was filled with wonder, awe even, one that set my blood to boiling all over again as I pondered that term, take me up, and what all it had entailed for this boy. "Why come isn't you mad, Misser Forrest? Why come isn't you mad at me for being a clumsy little shit, sir?"

I suppose that I ought to have corrected his language, and, as his Mama would say, his grammar as well, but I knew that he'd used that descriptive for himself because someone in his past had used it as well, undoubtedly the same son of a bitch who'd enjoyed "taking him up", and everything was suddenly clear as day to me. There were only two men in Ava's life that could have hurt her and her sons, and one of them was dead, so that narrowed down who it was that needed a lesson in manners, didn't it?

"You ain't a 'clumsy little shit', Josh," I assured him, placing one hand on his shoulder and squeezing gently. "And I'm not mad at you, because I've got no reason to be mad at you...and I won't ever take you up, young man, or hurt you, or your brother, or your Mama in any way. You have my word on that."

He looked at me for a moment, like he was trying to figure me out, and then he smiled at me and raised his hand, to tentatively place it on top of mine. There weren't many people who touched me, and I couldn't recall a single moment in my life when a child had done so, but it felt nice…hell…it felt downright wonderful, and for just a moment I allowed myself to pretend that he was my boy, mine and Ava's, until common sense reared its ugly head and reminded me that I had no place thinking that way about a woman I barely knew…no matter how nice it felt to do so.


End file.
